Of Ponytails and Parentage
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: "It's probably just a coincidence." "N, your hair is exactly the same shade of green." When Hilda brushes out N's hair one fine morning, she notices that he really does look a lot like Ghetsis with his hair down, which N says is impossible, since he was supposedly adopted. Hilda isn't so sure he was. K-plus for some fluffy romance. I do not own Pokémon or the cover art!


If you had told me a few years ago that someday I would be going out with the leader of Team Plasma, I probably would have punched you. But there we were, alone together in my bedroom, nineteen and twenty, with me in my skimpy pajamas.

I guess I'll back up a little.

The first thing my eyes took in that late spring morning, with the cool air drifting through the open window, was N standing by my bed, a small smile on his face as he looked down at me. He wore the same clothes he always wore, crisp and clean and long-sleeved, despite how hot the day was supposed to get—and his hair was in the same, messy ponytail.

"How long have you been there?" I yawned, and pulled the single purple comforter around my neck jokingly, even though I had no problem with him seeing me in my pajamas. 'Pajamas' here had the meaning of 'a tank top and short shorts', but still, it wasn't much more revealing than anything I wore out on the streets.

"Your mother just sent me up to wake you," was N's response, sitting on my bed.

"You _can _call her Vanessa, you know," I sighed, slipping one hand out from under the covers and into his own; he still looked startled whenever I did that, but the expression quickly shifted into a smile. "You're my boyfriend. You're allowed to call my family by their names."

N just shrugged evasively. "Anyway, she says today is chore day, so you should be up by now," he added, and I groaned, retracting my hand and hiding under the covers. I _hated _chore day. She always kept everything so clean you wouldn't think it would be necessary to have a day out of every month devoted to taking the house apart and putting it back together, but she apparently thought otherwise.

N's hand ran gently over the top of the covers, tracing the length of my body, and I froze before remembering to breathe. Sure enough, as I peeked out from the top of the covers, there was only curiosity in his gaze as he removed his hand; he hadn't known better. "Is chore day so bad?" he asked, frowning. "It doesn't look like there's much to do."

"You'd be surprised," I sighed, rubbing my eyes and slipping out of bed. "She—_finds_—things," I added, stretching, and tugged the covers halfheartedly into something resembling order, knowing that I'd only have to remake it soon anyway. "It's usually my room she has a problem with."

"It looks fine to me," smiled N, and I remembered the untidy state of his room in the castle and grinned. He probably hadn't ever been forced to clean it. "I'll help out if you like," he added, glancing around uncertainly, and I bit my lip, wondering suddenly if there was anything in my room I specifically didn't want him seeing.

"Just stay out of my dresser," I decided eventually, sitting next to him on my bed.

"Of course," agreed N immediately, glancing at me sideways solemnly, and I smiled at him reassuringly: he looked away again, visibly relieved, and moved his hand tentatively towards mine, like there was any realistic chance I would refuse him.

My attention was drawn to the chaotic way his hair tumbled down his back, longer even than mine. It didn't look tangled—just like it was naturally unruly—but that didn't stop the idea from popping into my head that maybe I'd like to run a brush through it anyway.

"Hold still," I told him (he nodded, nonplussed), and got up to retrieve a comb from the table at the foot of my bed. My mother had reminded me frequently to put it in the bathroom where it belongs, but why would I do that when moments like this happened—times when I needed a comb _pronto_?

Sitting cross-legged behind him with comb in hand, I tugged out the scrunchie in N's hair, removed his baseball cap, and set to work. Sure enough, his hair was smoothly brushed already; my comb only caught on a knot or two, which I promptly untangled.

"Aren't you going downstairs to talk to your mother about chores?" sighed N after a long and comfortable pause, shooting a questioning glance at me out the corner of his eye. "You're late already, after all, and it's only getting later."

"What makes you think I'd be able to straighten out a house if I can't even straighten out your hair?" I returned, debating putting his hair into a braid. I was sure it would look great, after all; nothing seemed to detract from the handsomeness of his appearance, at least in my eyes.

"But she'll be wondering what we're doing," pressed N worriedly.

I took the hint reluctantly and set the comb down beside me. Braids would have to wait. "Fine," I grumbled, but quickly scooped up the scrunchie when he moved to re-tie his hair. "Let's see how you look," I added, taking his arm and dragging him to the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

With his hair down, N bore an uncanny resemblance to Ghetsis, though he stood only five inches or so taller than me; maybe it was just because the last time I met him was when I was only sixteen, but Ghetsis always struck me as being much taller than N. I was about to make some flippant remark about the similarities between father and son when he cleared his throat.

"You look good in color," he said clumsily, looking down at me intently; I could feel myself blush, tugging awkwardly at the edges of my hot pink tank top. "You never wore much color before."

I smiled up at him. "Thanks," I said softly, and the corner of his mouth tugged up. I might have kissed him if he'd stayed like that a second longer, but instead, he went back to observing our reflections thoughtfully.

"Can I put my hair back up now?" asked N after a short pause, glancing down at the scrunchie settled safely around my wrist. "Having it down feels… weird," he added uncomfortably.

"You do look a lot like your father," I confessed, and reached up to tug three strands of hair out of line before I put my hand over his right eye as the finishing touch. "Your eyes aren't red, but if you wore contacts, you could probably pass for him in a few more decades."

N frowned beneath my hand and turned to me; I withdrew my hand. "I'm adopted," he admitted. "I thought I told you." He reached for the scrunchie around my wrist slowly, and I let him remove it this time, a little guiltily. Had I inadvertently stirred up his more painful memories again?

"But you look so much like him," I protested cautiously. "Except for your eyes."

He shrugged, but didn't look particularly bothered; I gave a silent sigh of relief. I'd accidentally reminded him of his prickly past enough times before—I didn't want to hurt him yet again. "It's probably just a coincidence."

I snorted. "N, your hair is _exactly_ the same shade of green."

N gave a wry smile, straightening out his new ponytail. "I like to think that's the only similarity between us."

"Yeah," I agreed, standing on one hip and looking up at him as he stared into the mirror, "but still, it's a little _too _much of a coincidence. I'm still going with Ghetsis being your real father."

N sighed and glanced down at me. "Let's say, for the sake of an argument, that you're right about Ghetsis being my father," he muttered, looking as though the words tasted bitter. "How do you explain how he convinced someone to have his child?"

I pursed my lips. "Well, you saw how many people were converted to Team Plasma," I began uncertainly. "He can be very persuasive when he wants to be. I'm sure whoever your mother is wouldn't have known what a manipulative jerk he really is until after she was already pregnant."

N visibly shuddered and couldn't meet my eyes. "_Please_ don't talk about how I was conceived, if we're still assuming Ghetsis is my father."

"Okay, okay," I laughed, relenting. "I won't. But anyway, it _would_ make sense as to why your mom dumped you in a forest when you were a kid. She would have been worried that you would turn out just like your dad."

N evidently had nothing to say to this, and merely walked back over to my bed to retrieve his baseball cap; I followed.

"Where'd you get that, anyway?" I dared to ask as he arranged his hat carefully on his head. He'd had it for as long as I could remember, along with the mysterious bangles on his wrist, the cube on his belt, and the pendant hanging around his neck—but N hadn't ever explained any of their origins.

"It's the first thing I ever bought with my own money," he responded with a reminiscent smile. "After I was allowed out of the castle for the first time since Ghetsis took me out of the forest."

"So if Ghetsis came back for you… did your mother ever show up again?"

"I don't even remember what she looks like," replied N.

"She probably has gray eyes," I guessed, searching N's expressive ones. "Since you didn't get Ghetsis's red irises. Or… iris," I amended, thinking of his eyepatch and wondering if his eyes had once been two different colors.

"So if you're so attached to the idea that Ghetsis is my father," sighed N, gray eyes taking a stormy turn, "what about Anthea and Concordia? He adopted them too, you know. You don't think they're my blood sisters, do you?"

"Now, what kind of a woman would have _three_ of Ghetsis's children?" I scoffed.

"A crazy one?" suggested N helpfully.

I grinned. "Maybe. But they look too different for all of you to share a parent." I hadn't thought of his relation to Anthea and Concordia before, but now that he mentioned it… "Maybe you all just have different mothers, or something."

N rolled his eyes. "You're telling me Ghetsis was once some kind of a philanderer?"

I put my hands up in a gesture of harmlessness. "Hey, all I'm saying is the guy has some serious charisma. It wouldn't be that much of a stretch to say he would be able to get almost any woman he wanted, at least until they figure out that he's actually a psychopath."

Smiling distantly, N sat on my bed again and crossed his arms. "And you think I'm actually _related_ to him?"

"Well, yeah!" I exclaimed, sitting next to him. "You two just look a lot alike, okay? Too much for you to just be adopted. That's all I'm saying."

"But you don't think I act like him?" The question was joking, but I could feel the underlying current of worry there, and I rested my head against his shoulder reassuringly.

"Would I be going out with you if you did?"

"You _said_ he could get anyone he wanted, as long as they didn't know he was a psychopath at first," persisted N. "How do you know I'm not just using you, or something? Just like he might have done my mother?"

The idea of socially-conscious N 'using' anybody was ludicrous; I couldn't stifle a giggle. "Because I know _you_," I returned, smiling up at him. "_Like father, like son _is just an expression. I don't think you got anything from him but your looks, and that's not exactly a bad thing."

N raised his eyebrows. "So you think he looks good?"

"You look better," I corrected. "Your mother must have been a real beauty."

"That wasn't the question," laughed N, tousling my already messy hair, and I growled playfully and gave him a light punch. Of course I didn't think Ghetsis was anything but pure evil, but the only thing about him that _wasn't_ easy on the eyes was that ridiculous robe he'd worn.

I muttered a hasty curse as I remembered suddenly that Mom was waiting downstairs for me to help out, and leapt to my feet.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" asked N, a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes, and stood up as well, glancing down at me with a smirk. For being so innocent, he had a way with his body language—I couldn't stop myself from leaning up to give him a swift kiss.

At least, I _thought_ it would be swift. The next thing I knew, I heard the distant sound of someone clearing her throat, and jumped quickly away from N: my mother stood just inside the doorway, tapping her foot impatiently.

"We weren't—!" I tried to explain, flushing, but I cut myself off frustratedly, knowing she'd never believe me.

"Just get downstairs," she sighed, not without humor in her voice, as she turned away to go back downstairs. "Breakfast is getting cold. I don't blame _you_, N, honey," she added, briefly turning back to face us with a small smile. "My daughter can be very… insistent."

"Thanks, Vanessa," he mumbled, face absolutely scarlet, and removed his hand hurriedly from around my waist, unable to meet her eyes.

"You called me Vanessa!" she exclaimed, beaming at him, and disappeared down the stairs, humming to herself. I sighed and glanced up at N, who looked back down at me with a half-exasperated, half-affectionate expression.

"You get me into _all kinds_ of trouble," he accused halfheartedly, following as I led the way to the door.

"And you like it," I finished, closing the door behind us.

"Never said I didn't," murmured N, brushing another kiss past my cheek as he passed me on his way down the steps. "But, after breakfast, would you do something for me?"

"Sure, I guess," I responded, raising my eyebrows as I followed. I wasn't going to have another Pokémon battle, and I wasn't going to go traveling with him like he had asked—not now that I had finally come home again. Besides those two, I couldn't think of anything I wouldn't do for him.

"You've got to let me comb your hair out and tell you how much you look like your mother," responded N with a sweet smile, and as we sat across from one another at the breakfast table, I knew I had found my match.

* * *

_Happy Mother's Day, all! Or at least, Mother's Evening. I guess this was more of a fatherhood story, but whatever. It at least involved mothers. Close enough, right?_

_In other news, I finally broke my "Tales of" streak with this bit of Pokémon, so there's that. I'm also working on a much longer Pokémon fic at the moment, but until then, I'll probably go back to Tales for awhile… :)_


End file.
